Grey is a new colour of his life
by domino.deshicko
Summary: Halloween. I was looking for more arts. So this little story was inspired by this art /shumdario malec?z photo-128876497 457312478%2Falbum-128876497 0%2Frev


He stands in front of them in black and white robes — the jester for the new kings of the Shadow World, a weeping Pierrot with traces of bloody tears drawn by the icy fingers of the creatures of the night. A warlock for fun, an almost broken toy in the hands, that know no mercy, a puppet whose wrists are twined by the reliable bonds. There is no magic left, no hope either. The muscles are slowly freezing and all his strength is spent only to keep the body in an upright position. Glamour fades from his eyes, and an admiring whisper sweeps across the huge hall. Vampires know how to wait, patience is their hallmark, but it has never been one of his virtues. And even now, when protraction means a few minutes of life, all that he wants is to end this performance, where his role is the main one. Drama, comedy, thriller, adventure, erotica — the genres of his life replaced each other, apparently, now it's the horror's turn. A deep breath, but the tears remain unshed.

"What will you think about when you are at the death door?" his friend asked him once. The friend that died in his arms decades later. The silence was the answer at that time. But not now. Now, once he closes his eyes, and the memory is full of feelings and sensations, joy and sadness, happiness and pain. The heart beats faster again, as he remembers those long nights when a familiar voice whispered: "You are so impatient." A smile rips the dry skin of the lips against his wish, but then it shatters by reality when the instincts, breaking through the veil of memories, scream so loud that burst the eardrums. A soft voice surrounds him, and Magnus opens his eyes. Beauty kills: her long fingers tear the weak flesh, her green-brown waters drown the will, her bright contour of the lips steals the breath. Beauty, as the embodiment of all his weaknesses, holds the delicate china filled with the blood of those beings whose lives had been sacrificed for eternity. His lover wasn't patient too. The vial with the bluish potion was never drunk. Time had played against the best warlock in this game, lightly destroying several lives at once. Only a few days were not enough for them to be happy, the days that then stretched out in the years of the war against the cruelest creatures. Endless battles in which all his loved ones were burned and only he and a handful of madmen left.

Magnus sighs and raises his eyes. In front of him there is a polite curiosity, in front of him there is a cold aloofness, in front of him there is the head of the united clans. Cities lie in ruins, people die every day, shadowhunters are almost destroyed, and the real culprit stands right next to him, mockingly looking at his captive, his former enemy and once long beloved.

Magnus bites his lip when he notices the dull glow of a ring on the index finger. It's his ring, whose color is echoed with the only silver thread in the hair of a powerful vampire, who managed to subdue the whole world in a short time. A few decades ago, Magnus thought that the loss of immortality was the pain that couldn't be compared with anything, but Alexander clearly proved to him how wrong was the naive warlock.

"Had it really given me the immortality?" in large palms the small glass vial from their apartment, left in a hurry. Does he really wonder if it was worth to take that rash step, to pay an exorbitant price, and, in the end, to lose the one with whom he wanted to stay forever?

"No," Magnus shakes his head tiredly and covers his eyes not to see the bloodthirsty grin. "It would have taken mine."

The awareness hits on the vampire standing opposite, but it is too late. Sounds of explosions shake the ancient building, and only the ropes keep the tired body from falling. The space fills with sunlight, and Alexander takes a step towards the warlock.

"Why didn't you tell?" but all words in this world don't matter.

"Well, you know me, I wanted to make an anniversary present."

He is waiting for death, but it does not come. Instead, strong cold hands free him from the ropes and carefully seat him on the stone floor. Hands that a moment later flash with an orange flame.

"You did the right thing, darling. I should have trusted you but the love had blinded me. Don't blame yourself. It's all my fault," he hears the last words, and the sun kills the man who, with one rash act, clearly divided the world into white and black.

"We've won, Magnus," his friend screams joyfully into his ear. "All these bloodsuckers burned down, and even their head realized that he had lost."

Magnus nods silently and looks around the large hall. Bright colors faded, and even his black and white suit turned gray, the new color of his life, life without a loved one.


End file.
